Title: The Second Time
--| Prologue |--
He had had this dream before.
Tezuka recognized this place, it was a vast lake in the mountains where his family liked to vacation from time to time, usually during summer break, but sometimes during other holidays too. He liked this place a lot, and on warm summer mornings he could remember liking nothing better than waking before dawn and fishing in this lake.
He figured that must be what he was doing now, even though he couldn't see a fishing pole in his hands or his tackle bag. Why else would he be standing meters from the shore with water lapping up to his waist? He didn't feel wet, he must be wearing his olive drab waders too. These thing he could assume even if the dream had forgotten to include them. They were simple, unconscious parts of the fishing experience, he hardly took note of them in reality, and they were so intimately linked to the method of the sport that he could not imagine what it would feel like without them.
It was what he could not figure that was confusing him.
For example the trees soaring above the shore line like a massive wall keeping this place away from the rest of the world were flushed with reds, oranges and golds. Only frail smudges of light dying green highlighted certain branches as early autumn sunk into every tree. But he had never been up here in this season, his family was always too busy for it. He had never seen this place in the fall, only in the fresh tender spring or the hot lazy summers.
And there were fish swimming at his feet. Tezuka had never known fish to be so friendly, especially when both they and he knew that he intended to pierce their lips with painful hooks, drag them up to the surface, gut them on their insides and make a meal out of them. He didn't imagine they were forgiving, rather they seemed drawn to swimming through his legs and around his waist as if the water around him was sweet and drugged.
He wasn't going to catch them, maybe that was why he couldn't feel the fishing pole in his hands. Maybe it wasn't there because he wasn't fishing after all, because the fish at his feet were not just fish, they were koi. As brightly colored as the trees around him, the lake was filled with koi in water that was so clean he could see right to the mossy gray rocks below.
To him this made no sense. True this was a beautiful place in reality, but the water was murky and blue-gray, not this warm clear water with just a hint of green-gray color. And certainly they're were no koi in this lake, nor would he fish here if they're were. To catch and eat a koi seemed almost barbaric ... almost uncivilized. He fished for the salmon that came here to spawn, trout and on a rare occasion he would try to catch eel here, but not koi.
The sky was a light shade of pale purple, bold rays of sunlight blazed across the sky in gold and orange before they tips of their tongues faded away to pink and periwinkle. It was dusk, not the best time to be fishing in any case.
So.... he wasn't fishing, but then what was he doing standing in the middle of a lake? Dreams didn't always have to make sense, but that never stopped Tezuka from trying to force them to be logical. If every other part of him could be logical and controlled, why couldn't his subconscious?
He turned and looked at the figure sitting on the dock. Somehow it made sense for him to be there even though he knew in reality he had never been to this place before, never sat on that dock with his pants rolled up past his knees and his bare feet playing to the crystal green water as he was doing now, never watched Tezuka standing in this lake-- fishing or not-- with that slightly cunning, excited smile of his. He had never done any of this, therefore there was no reason for him to be dreaming about it happening.
Consciously he tried to reason that figure out of his dream, but inevitably it just made him focus on everything he knew about that person ... knowledge that seemed to entice the presence to become stronger, not weaker.
He frowned, the sky behind that person was a deep amethyst color, which meant for whatever reason the sun was setting in the North today instead of the West. Since he knew, consciously, that in reality that dock faced the South but his rebellious subconscious cared little for details like that clearly.
The fireflies were working out of season, seeming to raise from the water below the dock like bubbles of sea air. The soft gold green light shimmered across the figure's face as he lifted a delicate, pale foot out of the water, bent his knee and brought it up to rest on the gray wooden dock as gracefully and provocatively as he would if he knew that Tezuka was watching the curve of that pale flesh glisten with a light coat of springwater.
Tezuka began wading towards that dock. The koi around him broke away and scattered around the massive body of water. The figure on the dock smiled, not like he usually did, but in a way that was more mischievous and reckless. He thought he knew what he was doing, but Tezuka knew if in real life he ever dared to do this he could never have the flawless perfection he had here. There was no experience for him to draw on, to reflect upon or compare in order for the smallest of his movements to produce the reaction he seemed to want without error. In real life he couldn't possibly--
Tezuka stopped, the tip of a pale white foot pressed into his chest. His eyes moved up the rest of the leg, from the strong well carved calves to the hint of a thigh just as strong but a little more pliant under the cuff of his jeans. The other foot was still on the old wooden dock, the tongues curled around the edge of the last plank like a mountain lion ready to pounce. His hands were resting flat, palms down, on the wood on either side of him, but from the angle of his thumbs he could have easily pushed off with them.
Pushed off and tackled Tezuka.
If he wanted to.
And they could fall into the crystal water below ... and who knows maybe drown together, or maybe the koi would come back the swim around them both ... soaking wet and drawn close by the fall.
If he wanted to.
But he didn't do that, because Tezuka reached up with his longer arms and touched the side of his face. His eyes flickered for a brief moment, consenting without a single word. That was the one thing about this dream that was true to life, they never seemed to speak about things like this. At was always just understood without a word.
Tezuka put his hands on the dock to steady himself and lifted his knee to give him enough leverage to push himself up with. The water was heavy as lead, but it was hardly impossible to free himself from what felt like the thousands of liquid reeds trying to snag him.
This dream didn't make any sense to him no matter how many times he has it. But in a way it was like Ryoma had come to represent all that he can't make sense of, so maybe in it's own little way this dream does fit in perfectly,
Ryoma's eyes danced with the cunning and devious light from the fireflies as he lies down on the dock.
--| Prologue |--
He had had this dream before.
Tezuka recognized this place, it was a vast lake in the mountains where his family liked to vacation from time to time, usually during summer break, but sometimes during other holidays too. He liked this place a lot, and on warm summer mornings he could remember liking nothing better than waking before dawn and fishing in this lake.
He figured that must be what he was doing now, even though he couldn't see a fishing pole in his hands or his tackle bag. Why else would he be standing meters from the shore with water lapping up to his waist? He didn't feel wet, he must be wearing his olive drab waders too. These thing he could assume even if the dream had forgotten to include them. They were simple, unconscious parts of the fishing experience, he hardly took note of them in reality, and they were so intimately linked to the method of the sport that he could not imagine what it would feel like without them.
It was what he could not figure that was confusing him.
For example the trees soaring above the shore line like a massive wall keeping this place away from the rest of the world were flushed with reds, oranges and golds. Only frail smudges of light dying green highlighted certain branches as early autumn sunk into every tree. But he had never been up here in this season, his family was always too busy for it. He had never seen this place in the fall, only in the fresh tender spring or the hot lazy summers.
And there were fish swimming at his feet. Tezuka had never known fish to be so friendly, especially when both they and he knew that he intended to pierce their lips with painful hooks, drag them up to the surface, gut them on their insides and make a meal out of them. He didn't imagine they were forgiving, rather they seemed drawn to swimming through his legs and around his waist as if the water around him was sweet and drugged.
He wasn't going to catch them, maybe that was why he couldn't feel the fishing pole in his hands. Maybe it wasn't there because he wasn't fishing after all, because the fish at his feet were not just fish, they were koi. As brightly colored as the trees around him, the lake was filled with koi in water that was so clean he could see right to the mossy gray rocks below.
To him this made no sense. True this was a beautiful place in reality, but the water was murky and blue-gray, not this warm clear water with just a hint of green-gray color. And certainly they're were no koi in this lake, nor would he fish here if they're were. To catch and eat a koi seemed almost barbaric ... almost uncivilized. He fished for the salmon that came here to spawn, trout and on a rare occasion he would try to catch eel here, but not koi.
The sky was a light shade of pale purple, bold rays of sunlight blazed across the sky in gold and orange before they tips of their tongues faded away to pink and periwinkle. It was dusk, not the best time to be fishing in any case.
So.... he wasn't fishing, but then what was he doing standing in the middle of a lake? Dreams didn't always have to make sense, but that never stopped Tezuka from trying to force them to be logical. If every other part of him could be logical and controlled, why couldn't his subconscious?
He turned and looked at the figure sitting on the dock. Somehow it made sense for him to be there even though he knew in reality he had never been to this place before, never sat on that dock with his pants rolled up past his knees and his bare feet playing to the crystal green water as he was doing now, never watched Tezuka standing in this lake-- fishing or not-- with that slightly cunning, excited smile of his. He had never done any of this, therefore there was no reason for him to be dreaming about it happening.
Consciously he tried to reason that figure out of his dream, but inevitably it just made him focus on everything he knew about that person ... knowledge that seemed to entice the presence to become stronger, not weaker.
He frowned, the sky behind that person was a deep amethyst color, which meant for whatever reason the sun was setting in the North today instead of the West. Since he knew, consciously, that in reality that dock faced the South but his rebellious subconscious cared little for details like that clearly.
The fireflies were working out of season, seeming to raise from the water below the dock like bubbles of sea air. The soft gold green light shimmered across the figure's face as he lifted a delicate, pale foot out of the water, bent his knee and brought it up to rest on the gray wooden dock as gracefully and provocatively as he would if he knew that Tezuka was watching the curve of that pale flesh glisten with a light coat of springwater.
Tezuka began wading towards that dock. The koi around him broke away and scattered around the massive body of water. The figure on the dock smiled, not like he usually did, but in a way that was more mischievous and reckless. He thought he knew what he was doing, but Tezuka knew if in real life he ever dared to do this he could never have the flawless perfection he had here. There was no experience for him to draw on, to reflect upon or compare in order for the smallest of his movements to produce the reaction he seemed to want without error. In real life he couldn't possibly--
Tezuka stopped, the tip of a pale white foot pressed into his chest. His eyes moved up the rest of the leg, from the strong well carved calves to the hint of a thigh just as strong but a little more pliant under the cuff of his jeans. The other foot was still on the old wooden dock, the tongues curled around the edge of the last plank like a mountain lion ready to pounce. His hands were resting flat, palms down, on the wood on either side of him, but from the angle of his thumbs he could have easily pushed off with them.
Pushed off and tackled Tezuka.
If he wanted to.
And they could fall into the crystal water below ... and who knows maybe drown together, or maybe the koi would come back the swim around them both ... soaking wet and drawn close by the fall.
If he wanted to.
But he didn't do that, because Tezuka reached up with his longer arms and touched the side of his face. His eyes flickered for a brief moment, consenting without a single word. That was the one thing about this dream that was true to life, they never seemed to speak about things like this. At was always just understood without a word.
Tezuka put his hands on the dock to steady himself and lifted his knee to give him enough leverage to push himself up with. The water was heavy as lead, but it was hardly impossible to free himself from what felt like the thousands of liquid reeds trying to snag him.
This dream didn't make any sense to him no matter how many times he has it. But in a way it was like Ryoma had come to represent all that he can't make sense of, so maybe in it's own little way this dream does fit in perfectly,
Ryoma's eyes danced with the cunning and devious light from the fireflies as he lies down on the dock.